Expiration Date by Eric Wilson Page B

Death.”
    “And?”
    “Oh, and sickness. Can’t forget that. Gotta keep the sickness from spreading.” Clay fingered his wedding ring. It wasn’t coming off, not until the divorce was official.
    Till death do us part, Jenni. That was the deal
.
    Blomberg inquired, “So the good things in life—they’re just accidents?”
    “Accidents, mistakes. Call them what you like.”
    “This theory of yours, you pick that up from your heathen professors in your secular college education? You dealing with facts here or personal experience?”
    “You want facts?” Clay dropped his wood-handled pick and turned to confront his bulky antagonist. “Or you want me to work?”
    Digs chipped in. “Hey, Mr. Blomberg, the kid’s goin’ through a divorce. Might wanna cut him some slack, let him work things out before you ride his case.”
    “Is that true, Ryker? Hometown hero leaves his wife behind?”
    “She filed,” Clay said through gritted teeth. “All part of the great master plan.”
    “Oh, now I see. If things’re good, you take the credit and give yourself a pat on the back. But once things start to slide? Suddenly it’s all God’s fault. You slap him in the face with your failures and decide life’s just one huge cosmic joke.”
    “Nobody’s laughin’,” Digs said. “Let him be, Mr. Blomberg.”
    Brent cut in. “Bossman’s got a point. People use religion like some magic cure-all. My opinion? Greed—that’s the name of the game. All about the dinero.”
    “Hey, can’t throw the baby out with the bathwater,” Wendy said. “Right, Digs?”
    Digs tugged at his lip. “People won’t take the counterfeit ’less they think it’s the real thing. That’s the way I see it. Can’t have one without the other.”
    “Hold on. What if we haven’t found the real thing yet?”
    “Good question, Ryker,” said Blomberg. “That’s the bottom line. Becauseif you go around saying you believe in a God, then you gotta believe in his plan.”
    “Maybe he’s just dropped us here to fend for ourselves.”
    “An unfeeling, distant God?”
    “You nailed it.”
    “What about the God of justice and righteousness?”
    “Justice, huh? What about the woman hit by a stray bullet the day before her wedding? Or the innocent kid run over by a drunk driver?”
    Blomberg’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t question God’s judgments.”
    “His judgments?” Clay carved the tip of his pick into his maple workbench. “See, that’s what I mean. How can we be so sure that he’s a loving, personal God involved in every aspect of life?”
    “You’ve tossed him aside. Is that it, Ryker?”
    Digs, with his eyes on an order, was shaking his head as if to indicate he would not be an accomplice to Blomberg’s pious display. But Clay knew the boss was right; he was slipping away, losing his hold. Losing his religion—like the classic REM song.
    “I just can’t accept,” Clay said, “that he’s an uncaring God. That’s not the God I knew, not the one I grew up believing in.”
    “Then what do you believe, if you can tell us that much?”
    “Mr. Blomberg, I don’t think this is the time or the place.”
    “You’re on my time, at my place.” Blomberg spread his hands. “Let’s hear it.”
    “I believe …”
    “That’s a start.”
    “I’d rather believe God doesn’t exist than believe he doesn’t care!”
    “Ah! The prodigal shows his true colors.” The big man gesticulated as though victory had been won. “Well, good, that settles that. World’s full of fence-riders, and we certainly don’t need another one.”
    Clay clenched his jaw, gave extra attention to the job at his fingertips.
    Wearing a self-congratulatory expression, Blomberg stood in the center of the warehouse. He clapped his hands once, told everyone to get back to work, then spun his wide frame toward the exit.

    Crammed into a rental car en route to Fort Lauderdale, Dmitri felt his short hair grate against the roof. Never mind. His car in